


Gather near to us once more

by probee



Category: NCIS
Genre: Christmas fic, F/M, Or not at all, Possibly not, Who's to Say, could be a tag for 17x10/17x11, possibly sorta au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22008445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/probee/pseuds/probee
Summary: Sometimes you save the best Christmas present for last.
Relationships: Ziva David/Anthony DiNozzo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 71





	Gather near to us once more

**Author's Note:**

> Merry belated Christmas! Sometimes you hear "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" on the radio and it gives you all the feels. (So thank you Hugh Martin for writing one beautiful song.) I had the idea for this before "The North Pole" aired, so this is kinda canon divergent, but then again, maybe not. Enjoy the holiday fluff!

Gather near to us once more

Daylight filters through the curtains onto the mountain of wrapping paper strewn across what was once a tidy, albeit lived-in, living room inside this whitewashed apartment.  
  
His wake-up call at the ungodliest of hours was less alarm clock, and more screeching banshee, as the littlest DiNozzo saw fit to get her father out of bed with all of her might. (What is it about Christmas morning that turns every child under the age of ten into a molly-fuelled raver trying to score one last hit before the night ends?)  
  
He wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world.  
  
Even another hour of sleep.  
  
(Though, he admits, it’s a close call. He hopes she’s still young enough to crash for an afternoon nap, but she has grown up so much in the last few months. Suddenly his baby is no longer his baby, and can power through short nights until she inevitably melts down at supper time and unleashes her terror upon anyone within a five-block radius.)  
  
This is how, on this most special of mornings, he watches the Parisian sunrise from the safety of his couch, wondering how he ever made it to this precise point in time. That is until Tali determinedly tables the next order of business, outlining exactly which presents are to be opened in which sequence. It is a job she takes very seriously, clad in her festive red and green elf pajamas and curls askew in all directions atop her head.  
  
He feels a little guilty for zoning out, but he is _so_ groggy, and the coffee he’s chugging in his corner refuge is taking its sweet time to work its magic on him. Luckily, he has the unlikeliest of wingmen in his octogenarian father, who dutifully sits in the armchair across from him and indulges the little girl in her dictatorial tendencies. How the three of them ever got here he’ll never quite know, but he is grateful that they have made the best of things, the three of them. DiNozzos adapt and overcome.  
  
The glow of the early dawn makes way for the impossible brightness of the day, the unseasonal dusting of snow upon the city below serving as a reflector for the rays shining above and assaulting his senses even more intensely at this hour. There is promise in this light, a foretelling of things to come, spurring them on to seize the day, which seems to do the trick that the caffeine cannot.  
  
If only he could will his body to do the same.  
  
Tali, of course, is undeterred by her father’s sluggishness, squealing in delight at every treasure she unearths, each quickly cast side for the next package in the pile. He feels guilty at spoiling her in this way, but he understands that he’s overcompensating for what he feels she’s missing. _Who_ she’s missing. Thus he will not stop, either. The best he can hope for is that she doesn’t turn out to be an entitled asshole like the kids he grew up with, but he’s pretty sure he’s safe from that. _Mostly_.  
  
Senior, for his part, sits on the edge of his seat kitty-corner from his son, using his best _The Price Is Right_ announcer barritone to offer a running commentary on his granddaughter’s inventory. It’s amazing how completely he’s surrendered to playing the part in his advanced age, making up for lost time with her and with him in this second (or third) act of their lives. What a motley crew they are indeed.  
  
What none of them hear over Tali’s giggles and frenetic commands is the faint squeak of the front door as it opens ever so carefully, or the gentle footsteps padding down the corridor, just out of view from where Tony is spread out on his cushion, his free arm stretched along the top of the couch and his back towards the hallway.  
  
It is at this moment, however, that DiNozzo Sr. lifts his gaze off of his granddaughter for a split second, only to lock eyes with their would-be intruder around the corner, the sight of whom takes his breath away, prompting his jaw to drop in quick succession. Before he can say anything though, she brings her index finger to her lips, silently _shush_ ing him, begging him to play along with the surprise for just a moment longer. He’s no dummy, and instantly puts his game face on to keep up the ruse.  
  
(He resents his son once calling him a con man, but admittedly certain talents of his come in very handy.)  
  
“Uh, Tali, honey, I think Santa might have gotten a little distracted by your wonderful cookies on the counter and left one of your gifts in the kitchen. Why don’t you run along and get it?”  
  
The girl’s eyes narrow at him in confusion, because she is certain she scoured the place top to bottom in her hunt, but, also, _more presents_ , so she leaps over both men in hot pursuit.  
  
“Dad, what are you talking about—” the younger man starts, until a shriek down the hall just out of view dumps cold water on them both.  
  
“IMA!”  
  
Tony startles as Senior grins in delight; he does a double-take as he turns around to witness his daughter hanging onto her mother’s neck, gangly limbs hooked around her waist. He rises to meet them, and when his eyes find hers, she breaks into the most glorious smile, one he hasn’t seen in years.  
  
It almost takes him out at the knees.  
  
He traipses over towards her, while she sets Tali back down to earth. Finally face to face, the inches separating them seeming more like an ocean, their world stops for the briefest of moments to take this in. She lets out a sigh, and he steps into her space to embrace her, wanting to bottle up this feeling forever. They fit perfectly together, just like they always have, she nesting into his open arms and wrapping her own around his back, her cheek on his chest and his chin resting on the crown of her head. The sins of their past wash away with every breath.  
  
“Welcome home.”  
  
With this, she breaks away just enough to flash him another shy smile, and he beams back at her, now knowing exactly what to do. He leans down just enough to cup her cheek and place a tender kiss on her lips, which she returns in grateful acceptance. He tastes like coffee and hope, and she doesn’t think she will ever get enough of this. Nonetheless, they are keenly aware of their audience, so this greeting is tinged with _to be continued_ , and they put their reunion on hold to gather themselves.  
  
“Mind if I cut in for a second, Junior?”  
  
Tony obliges, and the elder DiNozzo takes his turn to pull Ziva into a hug, feeling as familiar as if it hadn’t been half a decade since they’d done this. Maybe it’s because they all realize Tali is watching and they don’t want to freak her out, or maybe it’s because this is just how they have always operated, but they slip into the dynamic like it was destined to be.  
  
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart. I’m so glad you made it,” he tells her as he kisses her cheek, and it shocks her that this simple gesture is almost the one to break her, tears glazing over her eyes and threatening to crumble her composure. She thinks back to the last holiday they spent together a lifetime ago, and despite the years and the pain that followed, here they are gathered for another celebration, their unit at last complete.  
  
This should not be possible. Yet here they are as in olden days, and now, yes, into their golden days. She can feel it.  
  
While the adults are momentarily weighed down by the significance of this occasion, Tali, on the other hand, remains blissfully unaware that yet again her parents have cheated death and destruction to reclaim their lives. On cue, she tugs on her mother’s arm to grab her attention, a serious notion suddenly flashing before her.  
  
“Ima, Santa left us all kinds of presents last night! So did Grandpa and Daddy.”  
  
“I can see that!”  
  
“But we didn’t get you anything, Ima. We didn’t know you were gonna be here.” The seriousness in her expression squeezes her chest, how even at this young an age she is already caring for her heart. How did she get to be so lucky?  
  
“Well that is because _you_ are my present this year, motek. And looks like I found you just in time!” She means it, too. She does not want a single other thing as long as she lives, if she can just have this. Tali grins in turn, the prospect of being anyone’s present hilarious to her, but the innocence of her youth is infectious and relaxes all of them.  
  
“Besides, squirt, that isn’t entirely true,” Tony pipes in. “Daddy planned ahead and got Ima something, too.” Then he leans over to whisper in his partner’s ear, “ _Later_.” She is dumbfounded, but the anticipation in his voice and the playfulness in his eyes sends a shiver down her spine.  
  
He reads the question on her face and smirks. “Let’s just say I had a hunch you’d be home soon.”  
  
Before either of their imaginations can run any more wild with thoughts of things to come, their daughter interrupts, the novelty of having her mom join them for the holidays worn off and eager to get back to business. _Her_ business. Santa business.  
  
“Ima, come see all the stuff I got!” she cheers, grabbing their visitor by the hand and dragging her forcefully back to the living room, and it’s all she can do to catch up to the elf leading the charge. They step over discarded boxes and paper and ribbons galore to reach their bounty in front of the tree, all aglow from the softness of the lights and the love that surrounds their family.  
  
It is magic.  
  
Ziva takes a seat herself on the edge of the couch as Tali burrows through the pile, giving a play-by-play recap of their day thus far and declaring just how awesome each gift is, before moving onto the next. The woman gives the child her undivided attention, agreeing with each prompt that _yes_ , this is most definitely the coolest toy she has ever seen, even if she knows that most of these will be outcast to a corner of her bedroom by New Year’s. (There will come a time to crack down on her unchecked consumerism. This year, she will give her daughter the moon if she asks.)  
  
As Tali continues her expert analysis, Ziva instinctively draws her close and scoops her up onto her lap, cradling her back with her arms as best she can while her dangling legs nearly reach the parquet floor. (She cannot believe how much her baby has grown since the last time she held her, but today is not the day for such regrets.) She follows the girl’s gaze and musters interest in the fairy doll before her, both of them noting the glitter on the wings and the stringed loop on her back (“ _When you pull on this, she_ flies, _Ima_!”) and falling into their respective roles like the intervening years hadn’t been ripped away from them.  
  
It all just fits.  
  
At some point throughout this excitement, the men have gone foraging in the kitchen for more supplies. Senior joins them with a plate full of their traditional homemade cookies, while Tony sets two mugs of fresh coffee in front of them on the table and both return to their previous perches from this morning, wonderstruck at how this one change in their party — this one tiny, _monumental_ change — has instantly soothed their souls. Tali’s chatter spurs them all on, and this ordinary Christmas morning to anyone else is anything _but_ to them.  
  
Even the gleam in the room has shifted, the cool whiteness of the early hours giving way to the warm glow that now surrounds them. Sure, it could be the midday sun making its regular appearance, but the three grown-ups in the room acknowledge it’s more than that. That it is a different kind of light that guides them from this point forward. One that doesn’t come from the strands on the tree or the lamps overhead or even the windows around them. That the pall that was cast over their family the day the monsters caught them — took hold inside of them — has lifted, fading into oblivion with each passing second as new memories quickly take root.  
  
They talk and they joke and they laugh, and above all they love.  
  
They are finally _home_.

**Author's Note:**

> I just want them to be happy! Is that too much to ask? Here's hoping they get to live their best domestic lives in Paris off-screen after "In the Wind" airs in a few weeks.


End file.
